


Competing Stakeholder Priorities

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Solo Lives, Bureaucracy, Complicated Relationships, F/M, M/M, Multi, Paperwork, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26869753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: As the new leader of the Resistance, Poe is stuck with officially documenting the wins, casualties, and other minutiae of the Battle of Exegol. Finn, Rey, and Ben "help".
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Rey
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21
Collections: Fic In A Box





	1. The Backbone of the Nation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambiguously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/gifts).



HQ has climate control now. The tent looks the same as always from the outside – a brown canvas dome draped with camo nets – but inside bustles with new activity. Unfamiliar faces work at rows of consoles stretched from door to dais, and an A/C unit pumps crisp, cool air that chills Finn as he steps over the threshold.

Probably one of their new allies brought the unit with them. Ever since the final push reduced the First Order’s navy to no more than a handful of fugitive ships, the Resistance has found its doors open to throngs of recruits from well-off worlds who don’t see why freedom fighting should be mutually exclusive with life’s creature comforts. The landing stations are full of yachts and spacious family vehicles. New tents have sprung up in between the storage pits selling festival food at exorbitant prices. An enterprising Chadra-Fan and his owlish business partner are doing a roaring trade in Battle of Exegol-themed memorabilia, helped along by an annoyingly catchy jingle that Finn can’t seem to stop humming whenever he lets his mind wander. In the space of a few days, Ajan Kloss has gone from being a strategic base of operations to something more like a tourist hub.

He knows it bothers some of the other veterans, this sudden fad for Resistance kitsch. He’s just trying to take the good with the bad. So some loosely liberal Mid Rim kids want to swoop in at the last minute and tell their families they were there when the action happened. That’s what the fight was about in the first place, right? Not free A/C, but the freedom to express political views without it being a matter of life or death. None of these newcomers had the courage to support the cause back when support was really needed, and that’s the point. That’s what the cause was for.

Finn has his annoyance more or less in check, but not everyone’s finding it easy. Case in point: Poe.

There are dark bags beneath Poe’s eyes, and he looks more stressed than Finn's ever seen him behind the yoke of a starfighter weaving in and out of enemy fire. ‘General,’ Finn greets, catching his arm to steer him away from a gaggle of rookies vying for his attention.

‘General.’ Poe’s answer is devoid of its usual playful humour, but he at least looks relieved to escape from the rookies, half of whom look like they bought their uniforms from Flix and Orka’s Free World Treasure Mart. ( _Cheap at half the price, two for one, twice as nice! Come one, come all, to the magical–_ ) ‘Did you get my message?’

‘Got all twenty-three of them, yeah.’ Finn pats the comlink clipped to his jacket – real Resistance issue, not the ones they’re selling outside with the crest spray-painted on at the wrong angle. ‘I assume you want something more than just the pleasure of my company.’

‘I want a holiday. And a cloning machine. You’d think having all these extra volunteers on hand would mean less work, not more. I need at least another six of me.’

Finn waggles his eyebrows. ‘Six is a lot, but I’m game to try. Could spice things up.’

No smile. That’s how Finn knows for sure Poe isn’t himself. ‘Yeah, well, until that happens I need your help. I’ve got these lawyers from the New Republic blowing up my inbox about – get this – kriffing immigration. They’ve been back in power all of five minutes and already they want to dictate who goes in and out of the space we won back for them. Apparently–’ Poe clears his throat and draws himself up, going on in an exaggeratedly stiff accent – ‘ _it is not the prerogative of the paramilitary organisation styling itself as the Resistance to grant residency to hostile aliens._ ’

‘If they’re talking about Klaud, he’s not that hostile. Except maybe in the mornings before he’s had his caf.’

‘They’re not talking about Klaud. They’re talking about all the defected stormtroopers we’ve been giving shelter to.’

‘Oh.’

‘D’Acy thinks they’re trying to cut down on the mass war crimes trials. No one really wants to prosecute however many millions of people have washed up with no place to go now the First Order’s imploded, but member governments are already starting to rumble about accountability. If they can chase as many defectors as possible away from their borders, then they can just shrug and say those people aren’t their problem. But I’ll be damned if they’re going to play talk to the hand with Jannah and her crew. Or with the troopers around the galaxy who turned on their commanders and helped liberate the worlds they’d been occupying.’ He swallows. ‘Or with you.’

As it happens, border control is one of the few non-combat topics Finn’s early education touched on. Specifically: border control, as practiced by the New Republic, is a fairy tale. Its territory is too big and its governing bodies are too decentralised to keep any kind of accurate handle on the vast population. Finn’s teachers used to preach about the pristine cultural hygiene of a future regime where each citizen would belong in just one place – and stay there, unless expressly authorised to move. Finn likes to think he’s shrugged off most of the First Order’s brainwashing. But it’s hard to feel intimidated by a government he’s been told his whole life is incompetent, hamstrung and permissive to the point of farce. ‘This sounds like a waste of lawyer hours,’ he says. ‘But if it makes you feel better, I fought Palpatine’s Final Order hand to hand. I’m pretty sure I can take a few immigration cops.’

‘That’s not the point. We’re the precedent setters, Finn. We’re the ones everyone is looking to. We need to send a message in no uncertain terms that there's a place in our new free world for everyone.’

'Everyone, huh?'

Tired as he is, Poe's mind resists absorbing the change of topic; Finn can almost see it pool on the surface before it eventually sinks through. ‘Don't you dare bring him into this,’ he says, when he gets there. ‘I'm having a bad enough day already.’

Finn would gladly take all the immigration cops in the galaxy in exchange for a ceasefire in the factional conflict that's been raging in his bedroom. ‘You could always ask Ben to help with this stuff,’ he says. ‘He’s…’ _Good at it_ might be a stretch. Better at it than most people who haven’t spent almost a decade of their lives working at the highest levels of an organisation where terms like “cultural hygiene” got bandied around unironically. Ben knows the right words, at least, if he can sit still and stay calm for long enough to use them. ‘I’m sure he’d be happy for a chance to give back.’

‘Well, if it makes Ben happy, how could anyone possibly object?’ Poe’s voice is bitter, but it’s the kind of bitter Finn knows will soften to something more palatable over time. He’s planted the idea. ‘But listen, Finn, if they want to play games, we need to show we can beat them at it. They want to pretend it’s about immigration? Fine. We’ll bury them in visa applications. I need you to take point on this. Get every ex-trooper you know to lodge a humanitarian application and force these bureaucratic assholes to either do the right thing or grow a spine and admit outright that they plan to screw defectors over.’

Poe’s asked for bigger favours before. ‘I’ll do it,’ Finn says, and gives Poe’s shoulder another squeeze. ‘But you have to do something for me in return.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Try to lighten up. We’ve already kicked the First Order’s ass. How hard can this government stuff be by comparison? At least the New Republic’s lawyers aren’t going to point a planet-killing weapon at us.’

‘No, I guess they’re not.’ Poe grimaces. ‘Maybe they should. At least I know what to do with planet-killing weapons.’

‘You’ll be fine. Just take it easy. Want me to get you a drink? Don’t tell your lawyer buddies, but I know two guys outside who are selling bootleg booze in commemorative flagons.’

‘I really wish I could. Let’s drink together when this is over, okay? Just you, me and a few pints of Fallen Order Extra Bitter.’

The jingle bubbles up of its own accord. ‘So drink from the cup of victory, buy two and we’ll throw one in for free, oh here at the Free World Treasure Mart–’

‘If you get that stuck in my head again,’ Poe says through gritted teeth, ‘you're sleeping on your own tonight. Paperwork now. Drinks and singing later.’

* * *

From: the_finn@resistance.net   
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: Well that was fun

Message body:

Whew. If I’d known how many parts this thing had, I would have told you just to tell the lawyers to shove it. I’m still working on all the appendixes and supporting documents but here’s the main application for now. You okay with it? I figure once it’s done I can give it to the others as a template so everyone has to do less work.

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net  
To: the_finn@resistance.net

Subject: re: Well that was fun

Message body:

Finn, you know I love you, but I don’t have time for jokes right now. I’m completely snowed under with all this paperwork. Please just do the application properly.

\---

From: the_finn@resistance.net   
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: Well that was fun

Message body:

I wasn’t joking....

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net  
To: the_finn@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: re: Well that was fun

Message body:

Oh.

Okay, we’re gonna need to make some changes before you can use it as a template for the others. Mainly to the “character” and “claim for humanitarian assistance” parts. Leave it with me, and I’ll write your letter of recommendation at the same time. Get working on the others in the meantime, but.... maybe just focus on the checkboxes and name/address stuff for now.

\---

From: the_finn@resistance.net   
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: re: re: Well that was fun

Message body:

Roger that! Remember, try not to stress too much. It’s only paperwork. Who really cares?

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net  
To: the_finn@resistance.net

[DRAFT] Subject: re: re: re: re: re: Well that was fun

Message body:

Clearly not you. Kriffing hell.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To learn more about the proud history of Flix and Orka's Free World Treasure Mart, head on over to ambiguously's [Fire Sale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957356). I like to think their bold business venture has been a great success.
> 
> Full size images are available for download [on imgur](https://imgur.com/a/hl6ytHr).


	2. What We Owe to Each Other

To the credit of the Resistance strategists who chose Ajan Kloss for a base, Ben would never have thought to look for them here. In a quiet enclave off the Celanon Spur, in the shadows of better-known Yavin 4 and Dantooine, the tiny jungle moon is barely fit to host any military force – unless you count its standing army of knuckle-sized native mosquitoes. 

His temper, never the soundest sleeper, jolts awake as he scratches the lumpy red bites on his forearm. A sullen voice in his head remarks that at least the mosquitoes like him, since no one else does. An even more sullen voice counters that he’s only getting bitten because the logistics officer in charge of the insect nets deliberately gave him one full of holes. A voice of pure gloom tells them both they deserve it, and he’s drawing mental breath for an acid self-directed comeback when a voice outside his own head says: ‘Hey, Ben!’

‘What?’

Poe Dameron holds up his hands in a placating gesture. ‘I come in peace. Yeesh. Bad time?’

‘It’s fine.’ Ben didn’t mean to sound so angry. He never means it, these days, but it keeps happening anyway, old habits and emotions crashing like tidal waves over the sea wall of his good intentions. They’re the reason he spends so much of his time alone on the jungle’s fringes while his newfound allies cluster in the cool natural caves or the climate-controlled HQ tent. The heat and humidity out here annoy him only slightly more than the crowds of distrustful strangers in there, and here, his lapses in self-regulation pass mostly unnoticed. ‘What do you want?’

‘Who says I want anything? Can’t a guy stop by for a chat once in a while?’ Poe holds up scant seconds under Ben’s skeptical gaze. He’s never tried particularly hard to make Ben feel welcome, and who can blame him? Rey cares because their bond gives her no choice. Finn makes room for Ben because he cares about Rey. Poe, who Ben suspects already resented sharing Finn with Rey, has less than zero interest in expanding their intimate trio to a quartet with a man who captured, tortured and tried to kill him.

( _He belongs in a prison cell,_ Poe said shortly after Ben arrived on Ajan Kloss, when he walked in on Finn and Ben getting better acquainted under Rey’s breathless supervision. _What in the name of Palpatine’s shrivelled ballsack is he doing in our bed?_

 _You’re welcome to come find out what he’s doing in our bed,_ Finn retorted. With most of his blood clearly occupied outside his brain, he added, in a poor effort to cut the tension: _Prison’s off the table for now, but he’ll probably let you tie him up._

 _Gross,_ Poe said. That syllable, spoken with a curled lip and a roll of gorgeous dark eyes, punctured something in Ben’s chest that hasn’t managed to reinflate since.)

‘Well, since you ask,’ Poe goes on, ‘I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about amends. No, not apologies or paradigm shifts or spiritual whatever. Practical amends. Finn and Rey keep telling me how bad you feel about all the countless lives you've destroyed, and now, it’s your lucky day. I’m here to offer you a chance to do some meaningful good for the cause.’

Poe’s tone doesn't invite Ben to open his heart about just how desperately he has craved such an offer. Wasting away while the mosquitoes drink their fill of him is better than dying or going to jail, but it’s not better than very many other things. He wants to get back out there and do something. Needs to, or he’s afraid his tenuous grasp on sanity is going to slip. Again. ‘Of course,’ he says, hoping his leaping heart and churning stomach don’t show too clearly on his unmasked face. ‘Anything you need. What can I do?’

‘Good answer.’ From inside his flight jacket, Poe retrieves a datapad and holds it out. Ben takes it reflexively. ‘Okay, so, the thing is, I’ve got a bit of a workload issue. Remember on Exegol, when that huge civilian army flew from every corner of the galaxy to crush your evil regime once and for all?’

Ben was a little busy on Exegol. ‘Sure,’ he half-lies, rummaging through dim memories of thoughts he might’ve had at the time besides _get to Rey get to Rey get to Rey._

‘Well, a lot of those civilians suffered terrible property damage thanks to their heroic actions. My inbox is overflowing with half-finished spacecraft insurance claims. And I mean overflowing. The comms team have had to overclock the domain server to keep our whole system from crashing. What I need is for you to write up a witness statement for each applicant, certifying that the damage wasn’t their fault so their insurance companies have to pay them out. Can you do that?’

Another wave of old habit swells in Ben’s ribcage, filling his mouth with the briny taste of anger. Poe came here to ask him to do paperwork? _Paperwork._ Him. The best fighter they’ve got on this kriffhole planet, the ultimate source of enemy intelligence, the former ruler of _literally everything_ whose aides had aides to do that sort of menial work for them. Even in defeat, in wretched self-abnegating penance, Ben’s worth more than that. The insult is too big to swallow. He’s going to tell Poe…

‘Sure. I’ll do it.’

The words feel like they come from nowhere. Ben checks his peripheral just in case it was someone else who spoke, because he’d never have suspected himself of having such advanced anger management skills. Considers pinching himself, but decides the itchy mosquito bites are sufficient proof he’s awake and not dreaming. It was him. He just did the right thing _despite_ being angry. They weren’t lying to him – it really is possible.

The glow of unfamiliar pride is bright enough that Poe’s safely away by the time Ben registers his parting words: ‘Great. By the way, they’re due at the end of this week. Good luck!’

Ben’s used to working under pressure. Which is good, because as he opens the datapad to see how many insurance claims are waiting, it sinks in that he’s going to have to pull a record breaking streak of all-nighters to get this done in time.

* * *

From: [736f6e206f66206461726b6e657373@holomail.net](ben)  
To: [pdameron@resistance.net](poe)

Subject: AllStar Insurance batch (527 items)

Message body:

Email client won’t let me forward these individually, so I’ve uploaded them all to the local databank. Took the liberty of completing them in your name since I doubt mine will help anyone’s case much. Left the witness declaration for you to sign so it’s not technically insurance fraud. I’ve also had to admit you didn’t personally have eyes on every accident, which weakens the testimony slightly (can’t lie, will fall apart if they check your ship’s nav log). If you do remember being in view of any particular accident, just change the answer on that claim.

Our position needs to be that the claimants are civilians and you are NOT their commanding officer. Insurers might try to make the Resistance liable for repair costs otherwise.

This batch is everyone insured by AllStar. Stand by for batches going to Galacticare, Bank of Coruscant, Kuat Direct, SpaceCorp, CFI and a few smaller agencies. 

Ben

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net  
To: 736f6e206f66206461726b6e657373@holomail.net

Subject: re: AllStar Insurance batch (527 items)

Message body:

Hi Ben,

Thanks for being so thorough. Really looking forward to signing off 527 documents one at a time to spare you the burden of insurance fraud on your conscience. 

Also, BB-8 just told me your username is a hash for “son of darkness”. And here I thought you were a privacy geek with a burner account. Do you maybe want to pick something less likely to get buried by my spam filter? I can get you set up on the resistance.net domain if you like.

Cheers,  
Poe

\---

From: 736f6e206f66206461726b6e657373@holomail.net  
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: AllStar Insurance batch (527 items)

Message body:

I’ve had better things to do than update my old username, okay. things like reading dozens of pages of kriffing insurance T&Cs and filling out hundreds of pages of kriffing claims so you can whine at me about the HORRIBE CRIME of doing the job kriffing properly and trying to HELP. If you don’t like my work you can do the rest yourself and see if I give a damn. I’m not joining your stupid karking resistance dmain andf Im not wasting my time on ungrateful laserbrains like you. KRIFFHEAD.

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net  
To: 736f6e206f66206461726b6e657373@holomail.net

Subject: re: re: re: AllStar Insurance batch (527 items)

Message body:

Easy there, son of darkness. That was me ribbing you. It’s what I do with people I’m considering being friends with.

I actually am grateful you’re doing all this work – you should see the mess of paperwork Finn sent me earlier, would have been twice as fast just to do it myself. At least I’ve got one person I can trust to keep the bureaucrats off our backs.

\---

From: 736f6e206f66206461726b6e657373@holomail.net  
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: re: re: AllStar Insurance batch (527 items)

Message body:

Sorry. I'm a little overtired.

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net  
To: 736f6e206f66206461726b6e657373@holomail.net

Subject: re: re: re: re: re: AllStar Insurance batch (527 items)

Message body:

All good, buddy. Tell you what, let’s have a drink together when this nightmare is over. Think how happy it'll make Finn and Rey to see us get along.

\---

From: 736f6e206f66206461726b6e657373@holomail.net  
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: AllStar Insurance batch (527 items)

Message body:

I’d like that.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full size images are available for download [on imgur](https://imgur.com/a/HkVa8tq).


	3. Waste Not, Want Not

‘I owe you an apology,’ says Rey.

She’s not expecting a gracious response. So she’s not disappointed when Poe, feigning shock, puts a hand on her forehead as if to check for fever. ‘Are you okay? Have you experienced any strange symptoms lately? Hallucinations, disorientation–’

‘Turns out it really is annoying when your friends lock you out of their lives and refuse to share what’s obviously bothering them. I’m sorry I didn’t let you in on my struggles with the dark side, okay? I was wrong to keep secrets. Now, tell me what the hell's going on. For days you've been acting like the world's about to end again, and I want to know why.’

Poe withdraws his hand. Rey hears the deflections tumbling one after another through his mind, muffled only by her promise not to use her powers on him. ( _I can’t always control it, Poe. Ever since I defeated Palpatine, it’s like … it’s like the Force was only half awake in me before, and now it’s wide awake. I see it all around me, everywhere I look, without trying. But I promise I’ll never look inside your mind on purpose._ ) Maybe he knows how transparent he is, because what he lands on is not a lie but a grudging part-truth. ‘I’m just tired. Turns out running the Resistance isn’t as easy as Leia made it look. We can have a heart to heart if you want, but it’s going to have to wait until the work’s done.’

‘The work’s never done. If it were just you and Finn I’d leave it alone, but you’ve even gotten Ben involved. Don’t think you can keep me in the dark.’

‘Right. Because you and Ben are a package deal.’

Rey doesn’t need the Force to recognise _that_ as a deflection. There’s no easy way to untangle the knot of attractions binding the four of them together: she and Ben work, she and Finn and Ben work, Finn and Poe work, and she feels how badly everyone involved wants the whole thing to work without having to worry about the awkward compromise of an incomplete romantic sphere. But Poe’s still plagued by old fears and grudges. Finn’s too busy keeping the peace to assert his own desires. Ben is Ben. And Rey…

Rey’s gotten used to letting the Force do the interpersonal heavy lifting for her. Opening up the old-fashioned way, talking instead of just sensing or silently understanding, is not a skill that comes naturally.

‘I’m not here to talk about Ben,’ she says. ‘I’m here to talk about you, and to ask if there’s anything I can do to help. Leia left you in charge of the Resistance. That doesn’t mean she wanted you to do it alone.’

Poe considers her. Promise notwithstanding, she sees him cycle through emotions: surprise, hope, uncertainty, and then a sudden shift that can only be described as calculating. The voice of Jedi foresight in her head tells her she might be about to regret her offer. ‘You really mean that?’

‘I do,’ Rey says cautiously.

‘Okay.’ Poe claps his hands together, demeanour transformed in an instant. ‘Let me fill you in. Some … associates of mine have been running a clean-up mission out on Exegol.’

‘Associates?’

‘Yeah. Old friends. They’re great guys, very loyal to the cause. They got their hands on a–’

‘Old friends from Kijimi?’

Poe raises his voice a little. ‘ _Yes_ , Rey, they’re crooks. But I don’t know if you noticed that Kijimi’s survivors aren’t flush with straight-and-narrow options at the moment. So anyway, they got their hands on a bit of salvage from a downed Star Destroyer, and they’ve asked me to help fence it for them. I said I would. We owe them that much.’

The bluster can’t hide the dark shadows under Poe’s eyes, or the overgrown stubble on his jaw. It doesn’t take Jedi mind tricks or any special interpersonal skill to guess what emotions might be clouding his judgement when it comes to Kijimi. ‘Finn says you told him we have to do things by the books now,’ she says. ‘And Ben says you’ve been tetchy with him for trying to do the same. Now you want to send me on a smuggling operation? Poe, what kind of game are you playing?’

‘I’m balancing competing stakeholder priorities,’ says Poe. At Rey’s frown, he adds: ‘That’s leadership speak for “I’m doing my best”. Look, I’m not asking you to sell the goods yourself. I need your help figuring out what the hell we’ve actually got. What it’s worth. Where to keep it till it sells. You know Star Destroyers better than anyone.’

She did offer. ‘Fine. Where’s the salvage now?’

‘It’s off the mainland, out on that rock island towards the north pole. You can take the _Falcon_.’

‘Why so far out?’

Poe swallows, throat bobbing beneath its blanket of neglected whiskers. ‘When I said the salvage was _from_ a Star Destroyer, I may have been a little overzealous with my use of prepositions.’

‘Poe…’

‘It’s a Star Destroyer.’

‘A whole Star Destroyer?’

‘Yup.’

The shadow of Rey’s Jakku childhood, never far away, looms closer than usual, bathing her heart in a chill that feels unexpectedly pleasant in the jungle heat. A whole, untouched Star Destroyer would have fed her for a lifetime back home. More than a lifetime. It would have earnt her enough surplus to hire other scavengers to strip the thing for her while she sat in her AT-AT stuffing her face with portions. But therein lies the problem. ‘Do you have any idea how big a job it is you’re talking about? Whole scavenger tribes can support themselves off a single Star Destroyer. The Kijimi survivors could terraform a new homeworld in the time it would take me to strip one alone.’

‘So get people to help. I don’t care. Make it not my problem.’ There’s desperation in Poe’s voice now. ‘Please, Rey. I know I screwed up. I know I should never have agreed to help them steal the Destroyer. I admit it, okay? I’m asking you to bail me out. I’ve got so many balls in the air here, and this stupid ship is one too many.’

Well. He’s come to the right person, at least. Or the right person has come to him. She did walk into this herself, after all. ‘I’ll need a crew,’ she says. ‘And budget to pay them.’

‘Sure. Fine. I don’t care. Do whatever you want, as long as the work gets done.’

‘And I’m not going back and forth to the island all the time. If your friends got it there from Exegol, they can get it a little further. There’s a clearing about two klicks into the jungle with an old Rebel bunker big enough to house the parts till we turn them over.’

‘Sounds great. Go ahead. Whatever you like.’

‘And when all this work’s done, you’ll owe me a drink.’

For a second, she thinks she’s going to get another _sure fine great whatever._ But then Poe’s face softens, anxious furrows smoothing out in the closest thing to smile she’s seen from him since the battle. ‘I owe a few people drinks,’ he says. ‘Let’s make it a four-way date. You, me, Finn, Ben.’ Barely a hitch before the final name. That’s new.

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Rey says. ‘Now shoo. I’ve got work to do. I’ll email you if I need anything.’

Not bad, as one-on-one talks go. Rey barely even needed the Force. She’s getting good at this relationship thing.

* * *

From: rey_skywalker@resistance.net  
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: Action needed

Message body:

It’s taken ages, but I finally convinced your “associates” to let me put together an inventory of what they’ve salvaged up till now so we can create the sales listings methodically, instead of spamming the holonet one item at a time. Some of these parts will be useful to us as well – I’ve told them we’re entitled to a small cut in exchange for our help, and there haven’t been any objections so far that I couldn’t resolve by myself.

Anyway, I need a couple of things from you:

  1. Have someone with comms experience take a look at the inventory I’ve posted on our intranet, and write up some appealing ads to put on the holonet. The only fence I know is Unkar Plutt and he won’t give good rates, so we need to cast a wider net. I could write the ads myself but Finn says I don’t have a very good customer service demeanour so I should let someone else do it.
  2. Approve the job applications I’ve forwarded to you. Most of them want paying in ore straight from the ship, but a few will need to go on payroll, and the rest should be noted on our books anyway. Ben says we can claim the ship was abandoned with us, not stolen, and if we keep accurate internal records it’ll make everything look more above board when the New Republic sends auditors after us. Which they probably will since you and Finn have pissed them off with all those visa applications.



Get it done. Get back to me.

Rey

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net   
To: rey_skywalker@resistance.net

[DRAFT] Subject: re: Action needed

Message body:

Are you kidding me? I asked for help because I’m SWAMPED, Rey, and I’m getting pretty sick of you guys pestering me about every little thing that

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net   
To: rey_skywalker@resistance.net

[DRAFT] Subject: re: Action needed

Message body:

Okay. Listen. It’s great that you three are apparently all working together now, but none of you are in command of me so I’d appreciate a few less orders if that’s all the same. Finn can write the ads if he cares so much. And since Ben’s so keen on following the letter of the law now, why don’t you tell him I told you to tell him HE can liaise with payroll instead of telling you to tell me to

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net   
To: rey_skywalker@resistance.net

[DRAFT] Subject: re: Action needed

Message body:

This is getting ridiculous. Every time I ask for help, it creates more work for me. Can ANY of you guys PLEASE just

\---

From: pdameron@resistance.net   
To: rey_skywalker@resistance.net

Subject: re: Action needed

Message body:

Thanks for getting on top of things, Rey. Appreciated.

  1. Comms team are already working overtime, and I’m running out of people to ask for favors. Get Threepio to write the ads. He’s all about customer service.
  2. I’ll approve your hires, but I straight up do not have time to deal with payroll right now. I’m sending BB-8 your way with the command codes to access our admin systems, and you can use Artoo as well. Tell him he’s been promoted from astromech support to operations.



Cheers,  
Poe

\---

From: rey_skywalker@resistance.net  
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: Action needed

Message body:

  1. If you say so. But when the complaints start rolling in, I’m forwarding them to you.
  2. I think you sent the wrong command codes. BB-8 can’t get into the system, and your hire approvals haven’t come through yet, so even if he could he wouldn’t be able to alter payroll. Send new codes please, and make sure the approvals are done.



\---

From: rey_skywalker@resistance.net  
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: re: Action needed

Message body:

Poe? Poe, I need an answer.

\---

From: rey_skywalker@resistance.net  
To: pdameron@resistance.net

Subject: re: re: re: re: Action needed

Message body:

POE. COMMAND CODES PLEASE.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full size images are available for download [on imgur](https://imgur.com/a/SHWki1x).


	4. All You Need Is Love

Poe’s no stranger to exhaustion and despair. He knows how it feels to sacrifice everything you have for a cause just to find that, after all, it’s not enough. He knows how it feels to crumple under the weight of responsibility resting on your shoulders. It’s how he felt at the Battle of Exegol, watching a fleet of impossibly huge warships blast his comrades one by one out of the sky in those soul-destroying moments before the cavalry showed up. It’s how he felt for a lot of the time he was serving, if ever he took his hands off the yoke and paused to think – really think – about what they were up against. 

He made it through the war. If he’d known what awaited on the other end, he might not have bothered fighting so hard.

The future of the Resistance lies entirely in Poe’s hands now, and it’s a future he never trained for or anticipated. There’s so much paperwork. It keeps coming and coming. For every document he signs, two more land in his intray, each one closer to overdue than the last. There’s no end in sight. No cavalry on its way to save him. For the first time in his life, Poe is up against an enemy he’s not allowed to shoot. Now and then, when he opens one of the more determinedly polysyllabic correspondences, he thinks about doing it anyway. Then he thinks of the sheer volume of paperwork _that_ would lead to and knows he’s trapped. This is his life now.

He’s so, so tired.

He has logged the Battle of Exegol in minute detail, dutifully noting down all ships destroyed and artillery spent. He has formalised every single field promotion to come across his desk, because apparently it’s not enough just to say _I’m sure whoever promoted you had the right idea, so keep doing your kriffing job._ He’s accepted the surrender of First Order-occupied worlds and dispatched ambassadors – that’s what they’re calling their cadets now, since no one else wants the role – to secure them. He’s approved more leave applications than he knew there were enlisted Resistance soldiers. His eyes are bleary and his hands ache from all the tapping and typing.

He’s still not done. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of insurance witness statements waiting for his signoff. There are letters of recommendation to write for the stateless ex-stormtroopers facing deportation if he doesn’t get their visa claims pushed through. There are countless job applications to approve before BB-8 can send them to payroll, half of them from the same barely literate applicant named Teedo.

There’s no chance of getting it all done on time, but if Poe’s going down then he’s going down fighting. It’s nearing third shift on the Ajan Kloss base. The night reserve has taken over command of HQ. Poe plans to lock himself in his private quarters where no one can interrupt him and blitz through as much paperwork as possible before the clock ticks over and the forms are officially overdue.

It’s a desperate plan. High stakes, bad odds, and not even the silver lining of a dramatic explosion to herald his defeat. But despite being primed for failure, the first grav-mine on his flight path catches Poe by surprise: his quarters, when he reaches him, aren’t the solitary haven he was counting on.

‘If I remember right,’ says Finn from his seat at Poe’s personal console, ‘you owe me a drink right about now.’

Never in his life before has Poe been less than pleased to see Finn’s face. It’s a strange feeling. ‘I don’t have time for this,’ he says – snaps, really, despite his Leia-like inner voice telling him to stay calm and stay on mission. ‘I get that you don’t take my work seriously, Finn, but a lot of other people do and right now those people are waiting on me to–’

‘To keep your promises?’ Rey’s here too. Great. She’s stretched lengthwise across the couch where Poe was planning to collapse, feet propped on the armrest, datapad resting on her stomach. Must be nice to have the luxury of putting the damn thing down once in a while. ‘We had a four-way date booked, you might recall.’

‘When I finished my work,’ says Poe through gritted teeth. ‘We had a four-way date booked _when I finished my work._ Come back in a decade, maybe. I might have a window open for you then.’

Finn and Rey exchange looks. They’re smug about something, and Poe’s too tired to care what. Too tired to waste any effort kicking them out if they’re determined to stay. With the couch and workstation occupied, he takes his datapad and comlink over to his bed to set up camp –

– and finds someone has already beaten him to it.

Poe utters a curse word that even this third new intruder might struggle with in the full throes of a tantrum.

‘Why,’ Poe says, in a voice that has transcended frustration and looped back around to icy calm, ‘is Ben asleep in my bed?’

Finn and Rey’s smirks falter. Finally, it seems to dawn on them that Poe’s not in the mood for games. ‘He … he was exhausted,’ Rey says quietly. ‘He’s slept about six hours in the last three days. He wanted to stay up with us, but I told him it would be fine if he just laid down for a few minutes until you got back.’

‘That was kind of you,’ says Poe.

‘He definitely had the biggest workload, going by volume,’ says Finn. ‘But we’ve all been working hard. Rey had to slice into the admin system to update BB-8’s command codes and get the Teedos onto payroll. And I signed off the insurance statements while Ben wrote those letters of reference for the Bureau of Immigration. We told him to take a break, but he’d drunk his bodyweight in caf by that point and said he had the most practice pretending to be you. Then while Rey was in the system she noticed you had overdue bills from our cargo suppliers, so she paid those, but accounting wised up to the breach and told payroll as well, so I had to run interference on that while Rey, Ben and BB-8 dealt with the flood of calls from Immigration once our visa applications started landing in their inbox–’

‘–which we did all above board,’ Rey cuts in. ‘We’ve told pretty much everyone that you’re on leave until further notice. AllStar Insurance might call, because no one had time to redo those forms so we just had to put them through with your forged signature. But we put all the rest of the insurance claims in Finn’s name, since technically he’s the same rank as you.’

Poe’s knees feel weak. It’s like all the tension has gone out of his body. There’s a cavalry after all, and it’s made up of his two favourite people in the galaxy and a third who’s just hit a motherlode of redeeming points.

It no longer matters that Ben’s sleeping in his bed.

It no longer matters that Finn and Rey are taking up his quiet time.

It’s done. All of it. The paperwork’s done.

‘You guys,’ he says after a choked pause for his emotions to sink in. ‘You guys, I can’t believe this. You have no idea how screwed I thought I was. Oh, I could kiss you.’

‘That,’ says Finn, smirking, ‘is the next phase of our plan.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Rey adds.

The Ben-shaped pile of blankets on Poe’s bed emits a quiet, satisfied sounding snore.

Poe’s too tired to make good on his promise of drinks. Even Finn’s alluded-to plans feel, on reflection, less urgent than the simple, hazy need to put their exhausted heads down. Leaving a keg of commemorative Battle of Exegol homebrew from one of the tourist tents to go lukewarm, Poe crowbars a fast asleep Ben over to the side of his bed so there’s room for the rest of them to pile in. _Room_ is, of course, a relative term. Even the perks of a general’s badge have only earnt Poe so many upgrades to his sleeping quarters, and his mattress – generously large by Resistance standards – was never meant to sleep four. But with Finn tucked close and Rey’s arm flung over them both, they make it work.

It would be so easy to pass out on the spot. Call this groggy pile of bodies a four-way date and sink into the warmth until consciousness dissolves. Poe has just one last task before he can put the whole nightmare out of his mind. Reaching for his datapad, trying hard not to elbow Finn in the head, he taps out an email to the whole Resistance base staff. Hits send without bothering to proofread. Settles back down and lets his eyes drift closed.

‘We make a good team,’ Rey mumbles sleepily. ‘Don’t you think? The four of us.’

‘Next time,’ Finn adds through a yawn, ‘try to loop us in before your workload hits crisis point. We’re in it together.’

Ben says nothing, but nestles his face in the crook of Poe’s neck.

That’s all Poe knows for the next long while.

When he wakes the next morning – loose and lazy, with someone’s hand cushioning his head and someone else’s morning wood digging innocently into his hip – the question of who belongs to which body part feels irrelevant, at least for now. They’re in it together. And now that the paperwork is done, they have as much time as they like in the privacy of Poe’s quarters to figure out how that works.

* * *

From: pdameron@resistance.net  
To: Ajan Kloss Global User Group

Subject: Out Of Office

Message body:

Hi all,

Please be advised that the following personnel are on leave until further notice:

  * Finn
  * Ben
  * Rey
  * Poe (me).



You may contact us ONLY in case of apocalyptic emergency, such as a new killer fleet descending on our base or a new evil emperor arising from the dead. For all other issues, find someone else to forward them to or wait until we get back.

Cheers,  
Poe

General Poe Dameron | Resistance | 1499-882-461-90-2267-3


End file.
